Commandeered Seaside Shanty
by HerenyaHope
Summary: It's the tiniest things that can make a plan go awry. An almost deadly incident has Harper reliving demons best kept locked up. A HancockxF!SS with my Sole Survivor, Harper. T for blood and language


"Why hello there," Harper smiled behind her bandana.

The brahmin let out a gentle moo as she petted one of its heads. The creature nuzzled into her hand, much to her delight. It was nice to have some animals in the Commonwealth that still resembled those of the past, even if they did have extra heads. It was also nice to have creatures that didn't try and kill her. "What are you doing out here, hmm?" Harper asked the brahmin.

"Seems dangerous for it to be out lone wolfing," Hancock added.

"Yeah." This all felt strange. Normally when they encountered brahmin out in the wild they were in groups, and ran at the sight of humans, and ghoul in Hancock's case. The duo had been travelling along the coast on their way to help a settlement in need when they found the brahmin. The change in scenery was a welcome escape from the concrete jungle Harper was accustomed to. It felt like forever since she took a trip to the beach. Of course, swimming now came with the threat of rad poisoning, which took away some of the beach's charm.

Harper looked around, trying to find where the animal could have come from. The coast held a gloom more potent than the rest of the Commonwealth. The water was an inky black aside from the white froth of the lazy waves. The pristine beach she once knew looked like a gray paste littered with rocks and driftwood, which matched the sky above swollen with dark clouds.

The redhead shivered as a cold breeze tickled her neck. The stink of salt and fish rot managed to breach the shield of the bandana around her face. With her luck, the red cloth would smell of it for days. _'Great,'_ she thought bitterly. The whole place had her on edge. The air around them was cold and heavy, like a wool blanket soaked in ice water. It made her miss the dry air the rest of the Commonwealth seemed to have.

"Hey, look over there."

Harper followed Hancock's finger. "What's that?" She squinted. It was faint, but off in the distance she could make out a small glow. "Looks like a campfire," she said.

"Maybe we'll find who this guy belongs to?" the ghoul suggested.

"Or more raiders,"Harper retorted.

"Love that confidence, sister."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's check it out."

The duo attempted to get the brahmin to follow, but the beast appeared content as it munched on the sparse grass. Not about to anger the creature, Harper and Hancock set out. As they grew closer, their suspicions were confirmed.

A few yards away was a small campfire built next to a shack by the waterfront.

Harper stopped Hancock with her arm. "There's a person," she whispered.

"I see him."

They proceeded carefully. Harper kept her stance relaxed, to avoid coming off as a threat, but tightened her grip on her shotgun in case _they_ were a threat.

The person sitting by the fire made no move as they approached. When they stepped within the light of the campfire, Harper realized why. "Geez Louise," she sighed.

The dead man's body sat slumped against a log. The man looked like just any regular settler, farmer's clothes and the face of a man who was no stranger to hard work. If not for the gaping wound in his neck, he could have passed for sleeping.

"Dunno, poor bastard," Hancock murmured.

Harper slung her shotgun over her back and crouched before the corpse. She prodded his arm and found it stiff. "He hasn't been dead for long," she told her companion.

"Makes sense. Wound's still fresh too."

The blood on his skin and clothes was already crusted, but the wound itself still gleamed ruby. Harper grimaced as she leaned in closer.

A chunk of the man's neck was ripped off, and Harper had no doubt he bled out quickly. Though a jagged, grisly sight, the wound itself was not that big. "Definitely not a Yao Guai," she said to herself. She stood and turned to Hancock."What do you think, ghoul or dog?"

Hancock shrugged. "Could be either. Still, don't you think it's weird they didn't ravage this guy?"

"You're right," Harper agreed. Usually victims of wild dogs or ghouls had hardly anything left of them. "Maybe it got chased off? The body's cold, so whatever got him is probably long gone." "Anything's possible."

A strong breeze blew over them. The gust moaned hollowly over the empty beach and the fire writhed frantically as it struggled to stay alive. Harper shivered, hugging her arms.

"It's getting dark," Hancock said, looking out at the dirty pink sky peeking behind the clouds.

"As if it wasn't already cold," Harper grumbled.

"Wanna commandeer the shack?"

"You read my mind."

They left the man by the dying fire and walked towards the shack. The ramshackle house appeared to be built out of the same wood strewn about the coast. It was small, probably only one room just from the look of it. Despite its owner being barely a day dead, the place looked like it was abandoned years ago.

Harper thought about the man living here, in this shoddy excuse for a shack all alone. She used to love going to the beach; despite leaving burnt lobster red every time, she always left happy. Now, the beach she loved sucked away those happy memories. In their place, the beach infected her with woe like it was rads.

Hancock must have sensed her mood, because he clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, think on the bright side, a crappy roof over our heads is better than no roof, right?"

Beneath her bandana, Harper smiled. "I guess."

Hancock returned the grin.

During their time on the road, Harper noticed the ghoul was able to recognize her expressions even with the bandana covering most of her face. It was nice, being understood without having to give up the security of her bandana.

Harper jiggled the knob but found it locked. "Leave it to me," she said. Pulling out a bobby pin and her trusty screwdriver, she knelt down and went to work on the lock.

"Remind me again how a lawyer learns to lockpick?"

Harper looked up from her work.

Hancock was leaning against the shack wall, arms crossed as he smirked.

"Nate had a bad habit of locking doors behind him by accident," Harper explained. "I'd been locked out of the bedroom, bathroom, the house; one time he actually locked me in the pantry!"

"How the hell does that happen?"

"He didn't realize I was in there," Harper laughed. "Eventually I just taught myself how to pick the lock."

"Ever thought you'd use it to break into seaside shanties?"

"It's not breaking in if there's no owner," Harper quipped, returning to picking. "And no, I never thought I'd be wandering the beach toting guns and having to break into shacks with a ghoul."

"You forgot to mention how charming and irresistible said ghoul is."

Harper snorted. "Shut up." Fortunately her reddened cheeks were hidden from his view. She heard the satisfying _'click'_ that signalled a success. "Bingo."

"Nice work, sunshine," said Hancock.

Harper put away her tools and stood up. She opened the door, anticipating sleeping in a building for the first time in days.

The smell of blood hit her before the sight of it.

The gurgled snarls made her heart stop. The ghoul jumped from the mangled corpse and instantly charged at her.

Harper screamed. Panicked, she whipped out her pistol. A blur of red flashed in front of her. Before she could stop herself, she pulled the trigger. Two shots rang out. Two ghouls fell to the floor.

"Hancock!" Harper cried. Horror came over her as she looked over his body crumpled on the floor. She killed him. She killed him. She shot him in the head and killed him. She killed him! Movement whipped her gaze away.

The feral ghoul struggled to its feet. Blood stained its chest from Hancock's shotgun. Harper unloaded on it. She didn't stop firing until it was on the ground and unmoving. She staggered back, her gun slipping from her hand. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the corpse-filled house. "Oh God." Her hand went to her bandana-covered mouth, the reality of what just happened settling in. She shot Hancock. Hancock was dead because of her. "Oh God," her voice broke as she shook. She'd been caught off guard and didn't have time to think. Hancock had moved just a little bit. Just a little. It was such a small step, but it still put him in the line of her shot.

She wanted to puke. Everything was unravelling, the world was crashing around her. It was happening again. It was all her fault. "Oh my God!"

A small groan snapped her back to reality. She looked down, certain she was hearing things. "Hancock?" Relief washed over her as she watched the ghoul shift.

He curl into a ball and let out another pained groan.

"Hancock!" She was at his side, helping him sit up and looking him over with worried eyes.

"Fuuuuuck," Hancock moaned. His eyes were squeezed shut in pain as he clutched his head. His tricorn had fallen off when he fell and laid beside him. Blood dripped from his temple and stained the left side of his head.

"Oh my God." Her joy was short lived and replaced with concern. Remorse clutched her heart like a talon. "H-Hancock I- oh my God I'm so sorry-"

"Calm down, sister," Hancock winced as he prodded the head wound.

Harper pulled his hand away. "Calm down?! I shot you!"

"Just grazed me," Hancock hissed. He had yet to open his eyes. "Jus' 'lax…"

The slur in his voice was not reassuring.

"Just hold on." She pulled him to his feet and slung his arm over her shoulders. With one arm around his waist and the other on his elbow, she guided the ghoul to the other side of the shack. Pushed against the far wall was a ratty bed. She helped him sit down and gently pulled his coat off. She eyed him as she rolled his coat into a makeshift pillow. Every indication of pain made her chest tighten even more. This was her fault. "Just lay down," she urged him.

After the ghoul laid down she ran back to the door. The redhead pushed the bodies of the feral and its victim outside and locked the door behind her. No way was anything else going to get in. Quickly returning to Hancock, she started searching her bag for the duo's medical supplies.

"Just hang on, Hancock," Harper said, pulling out a stimpack.

"Look I'm fine," Hancock insisted. He was speaking clearer now, which was a good thing.

Harper rolled up his shirt sleeve and searched for a vein. It was harder to find one on him than it was for her. Not only was she pale as a sheet, she didn't have Hancock's thicker skin.

"Let me do it."

The redhead swatted his hand away from the stimpack. "You shouldn't be moving. Let me do it." It was hard to keep her voice calm. She kept her head down and focused on her work. After some prodding, she finally found a vein. "Got you," she whispered.

Harper positioned the stimpack next to the vein and slid the needle under Hancock's skin. He made no sound as she injected him, not surprising given his familiarity with chems.

"There we go." Harper sighed. The stimpack would help heal up any damage her bullet caused. She removed the empty stimpack and put it aside. She looked up. Seeing the blood again made her wince.

Hancock smirked sympathetically. "Sorry. I know I'm scary lookin'."

"Shut up," Harper grumbled. She pulled out a clean shirt she'd scavenged and a can of purified water. "Hold still," she commanded him.

Hancock saluted. "Yes ma'am."

She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn't working. She didn't deserve his concern when he was the one injured. Injured by _her._ She knelt beside the bed, wetted shirt in hand. "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"It's just water-"

"Hancock."

The ghoul sighed. "All right."

Slowly, she dabbed away the blood. Ghouls weren't as susceptible to disease as humans, but Harper was not going to gamble on the slim chance of infection. The blood flow was already slowing, a sign the stimpack was already working its magic. She folded the shirt and poured water on a clean patch. She froze when she heard Hancock hiss under his breath.

"Sorry," Harper quickly apologized.

"It's fine."

The redhead nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat as she continued to clean around the wound. As she wiped away the blood she got a better look at the damage. He was right in that the bullet only grazed his temple. Most likely his fall was the more from the shock rather than the wound itself. Once healed the scar would probably be lost in the texture of his skin. She should have felt better knowing the wound wasn't grave. Instead, all she could think of was Hancock hitting the floor, the thought of what it _almost_ was, the fact that it was her fault-

"You're being pretty quiet there, sister. Like, un-Harper levels of quiet."

"I'm concentrating." She lied. Hopefully she could hide her emotions behind her bandana.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Harp." Apparently not.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

Harper tried to stop him from sitting up, but the ghoul was much stronger than he appeared.

He sat on the edge of the bed, black eyes staring into hers intently. "Look, Harper, you and I both know this is just a little flesh wound. So what the hell's got you freaking out?"

"I'm not freaking out." That time she didn't even try hiding the choke in her voice.

"Bullshit. Talk to me, Sunshine."

"Don't you get it?!"

"What, do you think I'm pissed or something? I was a dumbass for moving in front like that, so really it's my bad. And I'm still kicking, so it's all good."

"No it's not!" Harper snapped. She grabbed the water can and threw it at the wall. A metallic _clang_ echoed within the shack as water sprayed from the can.

Harper felt herself tremble. She looked up, remorse etched into her hazel blue eyes. She held up her fingers like she was pinching a grain of sand. "This close. I was _this_ close to blowing your brains out, John."

Hancock was silent, his black eyes unreadable.

Her vision grew blurry and she knew her fragile dam was breaking. She twisted the shirt in her hands with white-knuckled claws. "You could have died and it would have been my fault. I would have watched you die just like-" Harper's eyes widened. She swallowed, silencing herself before she said more.

Warm, weathered hands wrapped around hers. "Harp." Gently, Hancock took the bloodied shirt away and laced his fingers with hers. "Talk to me, love. You don't have to hold back with me. No judgments, remember?"

A whine escaped her throat.

His thumbs caressed the tops of her hands as she held his tighter. Her shoulders shook as tears dripped onto her pants. The dam was crumbling.

He pulled her into his arms with a tenderness one would not expect from the mayor of Goodneighbor; but Harper knew better.

Like a stretched rubber band, she broke down with a might snap. She sobbed into Hancock's shoulder, clinging to his shirt like he was going to disappear. Normally she did everything to keep others from seeing her cry. She hated her cry, because she was the definition of an ugly crier. Unfortunately it was too late now. Hancock held her close as she wailed like a dying manatee, the sound slightly muffled by the bandana. He had one arm around her waist, and the other rubbed her back up and down.

She knew she looked horrible. Her face was splotched red, tears streaking the dirt on her face like trashy masquara. But Hancock said nothing. He just continued to hold her as she sobbed away, getting snot and dirty tears on his shirt.

After a while her cries died down to soft hiccups. She leaned against his chest, sudden fatigue washing over her. When she finally found her voice it was hoarse and it felt like there was cotton in her throat. "I-I watched Nate die," she whispered.

He stroked her hair, encouraging her to continue.

She swallowed trying to restore moisture to her mouth. "They-they shot him and he-he went limp. Crumpled like a ragdoll." The redhead sniffed. "When y-you g-got hit it was the s-s-same and...I s-saw it again. But it was Nate _and_ you. I watched you die the same way but this time it-it was _me_. I did what they did to-to Nate, I was like _them_ and-"

"Now you stop right there." Hancock pulled away and tilted her chin so that their eyes met. "You are nothing like them," he told her. "Those asshats _wish_ they could be as amazing as you. When they shot Nate-"

Harper whimpered and she felt him plant a kiss on her head.

"When they shot him," he continued. "they did it on purpose. They're pieces of shit who don't care about other people's lives and deserve to be Radroach chow. You hit me on accident. You know it and I know it. I'm pretty sure I would have to do some fucked up shit to make you shoot me on purpose."

"I-I would never do that!"

"I know." he smirked. Then, the ghoul grew serious again. "Look, I get it. That was a pretty close call, and I know that those 'what if' thoughts are fucking terrifying, speaking from experience at least."

Harper blinked. "Really?"

The ghoul barked out a laugh. "You kidding? After every run-in with some raiders or Super Mutants, when we're picking them, I keep thinking what could have happened. _'What if she hadn't dodged that bullet?' 'What if I didn't shoot that suicider in time?' 'What if that cover hadn't been there?' 'What if my gun jammed?'_ "

"I-I'm sorry." Harper didn't realize that Hancock had those same thoughts, and wished she'd known sooner.

"Hey, don't be sorry. 'cause we did make it out, _you_ made it out. That's what I focus on the most. That and how sexy you are with that shotgun."

That made Harper snort.

The ghoul grinned. "And that's what _you_ gotta focus on too."

"How sexy I am with a shotgun?"

"No."

"Oh, how sexy _you_ are with a shotgun?"

Hancock huffed. "Geeze, Harp, I'm trying to be serious," he sighed with feigned offense. "What's important is what happened, not what could have happened. I mean. what's the point of lingering on the nightmares when you got the happy ending right here? I got a little boo-boo on my head, and neither one of us is getting eaten by a Feral right now."

Harper rolled her eyes as she tore the shirt into bandages. "'Boo-boo?' What are you, two?"

"Too in love with you, babe."

Harper groaned, which only made his shit-eating grin grow bigger. She wrapped her makeshift bandages around his head. "You're ridiculous."

"You know it."

Harper felt him tug her bandana down from her face. He was one of two people whom she allowed to see her face, and he was the _only_ one who could take it off besides her. He cupped her cheek. "So, you all right?"

After she tied the fabric, she looked down. Even with his black eyes, she could see the care in them. "Yeah, I think so," she smiled.

Irradiated lips met hers, and she leaned into the kiss. It wasn't passionate or heated, but it wasn't meant to be. It was tender, a comforting reassurance for the both of them.

When their lips parted, Hancock pressed his forehead to hers. "So, what now?" he smirked.

"I don't know, you feel up to moving?"

"I guess. Then again, it's probably dark already." The ghoul let out a yawn. "Plus I'm thinkin' some sleep wouldn't hurt."

"Agreed," Harper nodded. One by one she took off her armor pieces. She placed them in a pile by the bed and rolled her shoulders in relief. After peeling off her boots, she laid beside Hancock, who'd scooted over to give her room.

"Hmm."

Harper looked over. "What?"

"Kinda wish some more of that had come off."

Harper laughed. "I'm not getting naked, John."

"Why not? I'll get naked too."

"Because we are supposed to resting. As in sleeping."

"And-"

"As in we are not having sex until your head's been properly treated and we aren't in a shack that still has corpse goo on the floor and three corpses by the front door," she interrupted before he could finish what she knew was some sort of innuendo.

Hancock sighed dramatically as he put his arm around her. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, Harper Winslow."

The redhead smirked as she settled on his chest. "And you should be resting, John Hancock." She felt the rumble in his chest as he chuckled.

"Whatever you say, Sunshine."

It took a while, but soon Harper could hear the soft snores that indicated the ghoul had fallen asleep. She shifted slightly, and smiled when he mumbled softly in his sleep. He smelled of gunpowder and cologne-stained leather, a scent she would have never found comforting; at least, not until a certain ghoul came into her life. When dark thoughts began to creep from the back of her mind, she focused on the heartbeat softly beating beneath her, the breath ghosting against her cheek.

' _He's alive,'_ she told herself. She repeated it in her head in a mantra. He was alive, and he was hers.

Crashing waves echoed throughout the night, the only sound on the forgotten beach. And in that commandeered seaside shanty, Harper and Hancock slept soundly.


End file.
